Fairy Tales
by Alesford
Summary: "All she can think about is how she just failed to get the number of the most beautiful woman in the entire freaking world. Like, really, utterly ruined the most awesome thing God just shoved in her face." Companion to "Spontaneity". Brittana. One-shot.


**A/N: The thought to write a companion piece to "Spontaneity" from Santana's point of view has been floating around since I wrote that first piece. I've always struggled to grasp Santana's voice, so I hope you find this satisfactory. As always, please review if you read.**

**Disclaimer: "Glee" is not mine.**

* * *

><p><strong>Fairy Tales<strong>

Santana Lopez lives in coffee shops these days. When she isn't studying in one, she is rushing to or from one for her much-needed boosts of caffeine. She can appreciate the accessibility of Starbucks, not to mention their usual efficiency in getting her in and out quickly—so long as that idiot with the Red Sox cap doesn't get in front of her with no idea what he wants. Really, though, it's the small, independent coffeehouses that made her associate coffee with love. It started with the steady clink-clink of a portafilter and the steady burr of the grinder, the smell of a brilliant Panamanian espresso, and grew into something more with the steady crooning of Billie Holiday—and she doesn't really even like that kind of music; it's her roommate's favorite kind of shit and not hers.

As a second-year med student, she needs all the help she can get to stay awake, so this love affair was inevitable. Santana and coffee. Coffeehouses and Santana. It's why she also thanks God for a roommate like Quinn Fabray that always has a steaming cup of Joe waiting for her on the mornings she actually sleeps at home. The blonde is awesome for more than that, obviously (seriously, what badass motherfucker gets a frigging tattoo in _Thailand?_) but coffee is kind of awesomely vital and totally leads to something bigger than love. Like, true love, awestruck staring, and all that romantic crap.

It's at a Starbucks near the hospital that her life flips upside down with one look into the bluest eyes she's ever seen. Really, Santana thinks, a girl that pretty is a gift from God and not just sweet genetics. It happens the second she turns around to sprint to the station to catch the train back into Queens, and for perhaps the first time in her entire life, Santana is rendered speechless. She almost spills the scalding black coffee on the beauty before her that's just smiling at her like they're already more than friends. "I'm Brittany," she chirps. "You look like a doctor."

Santana is baffled for a moment before she remembers that she's in scrubs and looks like hell. Her mind is stuck somewhere between wanting to go die in a hole and smack herself awake to ask for this girl's number. She can't seem to do either and there's this total disconnect between her body and her brain. The idiot in the back of her mind is freaking out, wondering if she's having some sort of strange new type of stroke; the medical student in her is palming her face at the absurdity.

"I'm a dancer on Broadway," Brittany adds, obviously trying to prompt some sort of conversation. "It's totally awesome. Here—" She turns away to reach for a napkin and the blue pen poking out of her bag, but by then, Santana's feet make the worst decision of her life and she darts from the shop, completely embarrassed and wondering what the fuck is wrong with her.

When she finally gets home to her dinky apartment in Jackson Heights, all she can think about is how she just failed to get the number of the most beautiful woman in the entire freaking world. Like, really, utterly ruined the most awesome thing God just shoved in her face. In repentance, she falls face-first onto the futon they somehow managed to cram into the apartment.

Quinn finds her that afternoon, unmoving and groaning at the state of her life. Alcohol suddenly seems like the most brilliant idea in the world, especially since she doesn't have to be _anywhere_ in the next twenty-four hours for once, so she grabs Quinn by the shoulder and manhandles her out of the apartment before the girl can even begin to shrug off her coat.

A shot of tequila down the gullet is a good start when they reach the bar a few blocks away, and Santana finds herself ignoring the questioning looks her roommate and best friend is giving her. After another shot down, she pours the third into Quinn's pint of whatever cheap beer she's chosen for the night and urges the descent into inebriation.

"I mean, Q, this girl was fucking gorgeous. Like, model gorgeous. Nobody's got shit on her," she finally laments as she takes a swig of the beer bottle the bartender has put in front of her. He's her new best friend, she decides, because he seems to know what's up with the world and that liquor is the only balm. Quinn can have her title back after she's good and sloshed.

"Do you even know her name?" Quinn asks with that stupid raised eyebrow thing she does.

Santana's eyes glaze over as she remembers said girl. "Brittany," she says in the most disgustingly dreamy way Quinn has ever heard her friend speak. Quinn chugs her beer; this is going to be a long night.

Before long, they're totally blitzed and words of love and true love and goddamn fucking marriage are spewing from their mouths. The bartender has cut them off by now despite Santana's angry glares, so they're just taking up space and near-shouting at one another about love at first sight. Santana almost doesn't hear it when Quinn's voice suddenly gets super quiet and asks, "What if you bought an engagement ring to carry around and just happened to meet your soul mate and propose on that same day?"

It's like a light bulb goes off in Santana's brain and that sounds like the best idea next to alcohol. She scrambles to close their tab and starts hauling Quinn back out of the bar with less grace than she pulled her into it. Their words slur and they're both laughing giddily, tripping over their own two feet and cracks in the sidewalk. The jewelry shop they stumble into is getting ready to close, but Santana stumbles to the man, smelling like a distillery, and begs him to let her friend buy a ring because she's going to fall in love and it's really, really important.

He relents and Santana's moving from case to case in the small Mom and Pop shop, but Quinn freezes at the first one and her eyes are glued to the simplest, most boring out of all of them. She tries to get Quinn to get the one with the biggest diamond but the blonde shakes her head and buys the first one that caught her eye. Whatever, Santana thinks, and the two somehow make it back to their apartment in once piece.

The headache the next morning was shit, but she still managed to remember most of the night and kind of laughed at Quinn when the girl tried to return the ring only to find that the shop was closed for the next week. Words like, "Never again," were muttered her way.

It's waiting for the train that Santana's next best idea comes to her. She sees a poster for a Broadway show and quickly pulls up information for all the performances happening on Broadway in the next week. She's determined to find Brittany the Broadway dancer if it kills her or empties her bank, so she totally changes her route from work to home to fish out any scalpers on the streets.

She gets two tickets from a sleazy guy that looks higher than a kite and calls Quinn to tell her they're going to a show that night. The first show is "The Lion King" and there isn't even anybody named Brittany listed in the playbill. Santana wants to get up and leave right away, her money be damned, but Quinn forces her to stay. It's actually pretty awesome, but it doesn't have what she wants, and what she wants is a certain tall blonde with blue eyes.

The next four nights, they find themselves in a theater, and each time she doesn't see a Brittany listed, Santana's fierce determination increases. It's almost been a week and she's made a habit of going to that same Starbucks at the same time with no luck. There's only one more show they haven't seen and she's going to cut a bitch if she can't find tickets to frigging "West Side Story" for tonight. She already had a shit day, so she's terse when she calls Quinn to tell her that they're going to the show and to meet her at the theater at seven.

She slips into their apartment just after three and crashes on the bed for a couple hours before waking, changing, and hopping on the train again. Just outside the theater, some hack is selling over-priced flowers. Santana throws a five dollar bill at the man before grabbing the prettiest red rose he has and stalks toward the other side of the theater's entrance. She's pacing like a madwoman and she knows it, but what is she going to do if this is it? It's the last show; what if Brittany isn't here?

Quinn shows up and Santana snarks that she's late even though she isn't, and eventually they end up in their seats in the theater. Her eyes hungrily scan the playbill she was handed as she entered and her heart jumps to her throat when she sees a name listed as, 'Brittany Pierce'. Unyielding faith settles into her being and a smug grin takes over her features as she finally can relax and slumps into her seat.

When she recognizes the blonde dancer, even from their shit seats, she elbows Quinn hard to point her out. The man in front of her turns around and stares at her but she can't even care enough to flip him off because _her coffee girl_ is _right there on stage_. Something seems to have clicked in Quinn's head, too, Santana thinks, because they're both racing to get to the stage exit door in the alley at the side of the theater.

Brittany appears at the entrance and Santana is ready to vault over the make-shift barricade to get to her, but in that moment, blue eyes catch brown and Brittany's face lights up in recognition and something else that Santana can't quite pinpoint but it's similar to the smile from that first meeting. Like they know each other already. Like, maybe, they're meant for each other.

Brittany is smiling as she strides up to them. Quinn is distracted but Santana could care less as the dancer reaches for a folded napkin in her purse and hands it to her.

"You didn't ask for my number, and you left before I could ask for yours."

Santana stares at the napkin with the number scrawled daintily in blue ink before folding it carefully and tucking it into her pocket. Her hand hovers over it protectively, refusing to lose it. Her eyes instinctually snap back to Brittany's, and the other girl repeats her name in case the Latina forgot.

It leaves her lips before she can even think about it, and she wants to slap herself for even imaging to say something like, "I don't think I could ever forget you."

Brittany's gaze drops for a moment and a slight blush creeps up her neck. Her smile widens before she says, ""You're sweet, but I can't keep calling you 'Coffee-shop-girl-that-won't-forget-me' in my head." She looks expectantly at Santana before it clicks and Santana wonders, again, where the hell her brain went.

"Santana. Lopez."

Brittany reaches out for her hand and the instant they touch, Santana knows she never wants to let go. "Hi, Santana Lopez." She wonders if the crowd can hear anything over the sound of her heart beating because it sounds really freaking loud in her head. Her eyes never leave Brittany, even as she moves to introduce Quinn to the short girl that played Maria. Not that they need it, Santana finally notices, because they're slipping away from the crowd and leaving Santana alone with Brittany. Not that she minds at all.

"I was hoping you would find me," Brittany whispers in her ear as she leans over the barricade, hand still clasping Santana's.

"I had to find you," Santana murmurs back, and she almost wants to cry at the joy of _actually_ finding this woman in this city of so many millions of people.

"Can we go somewhere quiet? Too many people make my brain seem quiet and I can't think over how loud they are." There's a trust in the depths of those blue eyes that Santana already knows she'll reciprocate, and so she nods and guides the dancer from the alley without fuss. They don't talk much on the train ride to Queens. They wrap around each other and Brittany seems content just to smile at Santana and Santana is completely fine just _being_ in the presence of this girl.

When they make it into the apartment building, Santana's hands are shaking so badly she struggles to unlock the door. Brittany's hands take the keys from her as if it's the most normal thing in the world and slides the key into the lock and gives it a turn, pushing the door open for Santana to step inside. As soon as it closes behind them, her lips are pressed to the shorter woman's and she's smiling words into the kiss.

"This is okay. I think we're soul mates."

Santana's body responds as if they've been doing this their entire lives, and she gives a half-nod, gently bumping her forehead against Brittany's.

"I've never believed in fairy tales," she admits to the softest lips she's ever kissed.

"The prince always finds the princess and they live happily ever after. You found me. This is our happily ever after."

As lips meet again and Santana wraps her arms around Brittany's waist and feels an arm snake around her back and a hand press softly against the back of her neck to deepen the kiss, she finds that logic very hard to disagree with. She may think love at first sight is shit in a bucket, but goddamn, there's something to this fairy tale business.


End file.
